


Of monsters and men

by thefirstwhokneels



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Community: norsekink, Dubious Consent, I made the Jötnar look horrible sorry, Jötunn Loki, M/M, Sibling Incest, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:16:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefirstwhokneels/pseuds/thefirstwhokneels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Laufey comes and reclaims his son. Many years later, the two brothers meet again, under unexpected circumstances, and by the hand of fate and mostly Laufey, it doesn't turn out as it should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 日本語 available: [Of monsters and men](https://archiveofourown.org/works/680917) by [Wondy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wondy/pseuds/Wondy)



> Written for a Norsekink prompt with some changes to the original request. http://norsekink.livejournal.com/7418.html?thread=14100474

They had a childish fight that morning.

Maybe it was adolescence with all the mood swings and uncontrollable tempers but these were no rare spectacles in the last couple of months.

This one went down in smoke and flames because Thor was fire, always fire itself, and the envy got the better of Loki, so in the end it wasn’t nice and they said nasty things they regretted already the second the words formed in their heads but they said it nonetheless in a foolish attempt to ease the ache. They were mean to each other; the type of mean that only those so close to one another were capable of.

Neither suspected that the stem of their problem was the same: jealousy.

Loki was jealous of everyone but above all Thor’s many friends because his brother seemed to neglect him in favor of the Warrior Three, and Thor from his side was jealous of dusty books and endless parchments and the solitude of Loki’s chambers however ridiculous that sounded because Loki seemed to prefer those over his company. It was a vicious circle they weren’t even aware of.

Sometimes they passed each other, drifting to the opposite direction like two ships blind in the fog.

Sometimes they should have only been honest.

They had been close brothers but as their interests differed in more and more subjects, they inadvertently started to spend less time together, and it didn’t happen without heartache and loud attempts at willing that pain away.

Eventually Thor left Loki’s chamber in fuming rage and ventured to another certainly not thought-out adventure with his friends while Loki followed his departure wistfully from the cover of the pillars of his balcony.

He didn’t know that this was the moment that would embed itself forever in his memory.

 

-o-

 

First he honestly thought his father was teaching him a lesson. Lately he started to show an unexpected penchant for mischief, and more than one occasion it appeared to be more nuisance than merriment for others.

Under the familiar golden dome of the throne room, in stark sunlight and sweet scent, it was all like an absurd dream. The Jötun King seemed like he absorbed the warmth and light of the hall, emitting coldness and the scent of something crisp and raw. This was the first time he encountered one of the monsters’ race, and Loki could barely hide how shaken he was by the sight of the Frost Giant.

So when they told him he was one of them, he was no Áss but rather the offspring of monsters he feared all his childhood, he put it down as a tasteless mockery.

And then everything was a blur of blue skin - _his_ skin- and words he didn’t want to comprehend _–not my son, not my blood, not of Asgard-_ , and through the fog of numbing shock he slowly started to understand that he was forced to leave everything he knew and loved behind for a realm and father he’d always had courage to speak only in whispers of.

He didn’t cry because he was too old for that. He didn’t cry because monsters never did.

He hardly felt when Frigga pulled him aside, and only then, in the cover of his mother’s body, unseen by the Jötun King he let the cloak of guise slip. It was a childish wish, but he whispered it nonetheless because it felt not unlike those distant nights when he woke with a scream and Frigga was beside him and swept the locks from his sweat-coated forehead with a gentle touch. He wanted to believe she could do the same now, chase off this nightmare just like in the past.

“I don’t want to go, mother.”

And it was his mother whose eyes, of the same pure color as his son’s, his _real_ son’s, were tearing. “He is your real father. He came for you to take you home.”

Loki wanted to tell that his real father was Odin. His real home was the sunlit lands of Asgard. His real family—

Something struck him with a jolt of heartache, and he barely managed to speak around the lump in his throat.

“Can I stay until Thor comes back? I haven’t said goodbye.” And this was the moment that threatened him with tears he found trouble to swallow because he knew the answer even before he asked it.

Frigga’s fingers were steady around his arms, and Loki realized this was the face he wanted to forever remember: full of love. But full of grief, too.

“I’m afraid King Laufey will not wait.”

“Can I come back if I don’t like there?” And immediately, a concession: “Can I come back to visit?”

Frigga was silent for a moment. “Maybe.”

And Loki’s heart sank. He could recognize a lie anytime, and he finally understood they would never meet again.

 

-o-

 

Thor came back much after sunset, dirty and sweaty, and he was alarmed to find his father in his chamber. His mother was sitting in the corner, so grey and translucent that Thor first didn’t even catch her being there. He thought they would admonish him for coming back so late and in such graceless state but he could sense something heavy in the air.

“Your brother…” Odin murmured, and Thor was rendered stock still. “He went for a walk behind the palace. You know how slippery the rocks are there, and the tide is high now, and he fell.”

His mind was unmoving like a rock in his skull but his legs started on their own volition and he was at the doors before the words could pour out of his mouth. “Where is he? At Eir’s?”

“No, son.”

And it was so simple, just two words, nothing more, and he understood despite the protest of every fiber in his body. His heart knew what was coming.

“We lost him. He is gone. The current took his body.”

Thor only stood, and there was only one thought emerging in his mind as the world darkened around him and never really got back its light again, and it made his heart break and his breath catch, and he knew he would never be able to draw a full breath again for this thought would be stuck forever in his chest, not letting him rest, sleep, live and love. And he knew he had no way to mend it, to undo it, and he would die with the guilt and regret forever imprinted in his eyes.

They had a childish fight that morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

Jötunheim was everything he had imagined it to be when listening to his father, to _Odin’s_ tales, and maybe even worse than that. It was dark and cold – or supposed to be cold but he didn’t feel the chill after he was forced to take on his true form he was so disturbed by, but it was at least convenient and comfortable. He avoided every smooth surface of ice and never looked at his own reflection after the first night of his arrival when the face looking back at him belonged to his fears. The picture burnt into his mind and overwrote the image, the guise of an Áss he kept there of himself, and he no longer remembered his pale skin and green eyes. He didn’t want to remember the blue shade and pale curving lines marking his skin, the ruby of his eyes either, so he lulled himself into the belief that he didn’t have face anymore.

Jötunheim was made of glacier blue and stark white and hard rock. Of icicle plants and frost grass and crisp wind. It was perpetual dusk, and the curtain of slow and gradual decay covered everything. It weighed down on him, the deterioration of the palace, the size of all things that crushed him like he was no more than an ant – and the knowledge that it was all the Allfather’s fault. He quickly learnt who was to be blamed for everything, for the absence of the Casket of Ancient Winters, and sometimes he felt that the hostility was directed at him: the closest being they had to the much hated Aesir.

In the beginning it was not that bad. He was naïve enough to think that his real father claimed him because he was his missing, _stolen_ son as Laufey referred to him with the utmost virulence he could muster when Odin was to be mentioned. He let himself believe Laufey was the _prodigal_ _father_ who regretted that once he abandoned his son and now attempted to make up for it.

In the few moments of clarity under the shroud of longing and loneliness, Loki wondered why the King of the Jötnar would need a son so small and of little significance, so useless in anything in giant measurement. He had other brothers, tall and strong even though younger in age, and this was the only thing in his favor: he was the firstborn.

And despite this, or maybe exactly because of this, he sensed an aura of resentment around his father when he looked at him. The dark aura of shame and anger.

In the darkest hours of misery, haunted by memories passing through his mind, each like a perfectly chiseled prism reflecting sunlight he could never see again, he let himself succumb to the realization that had been held back by the numbness the events left in him that his family, his _once-_ family gave up on him. It was a heavy thought, and the disbelief clung onto him like a sticky wet robe which didn’t let him breathe. He was angry at himself for why he couldn’t simply accept it. Why he was torturing himself with the faintest of hope that they would come for him eventually. It made his healing slower and his wounds infected.

But, as pain always is, it was a lonely burden.

His once-father didn’t show interest in taking him back, his real father didn’t show interest in letting him in. He was an outcast and unwanted on either side.

It took him a lot of days that saw hope rising and dying, lots of heartbreak but eventually it hammered him harder. Bitterness was his alloy that made him durable. He didn’t think of his once-life built upon illusion and lies anymore, of the father who didn’t care for him enough, of the mother who didn’t reach out for him beyond tears, of the brother he never said goodbye to.

That was the hardest of all: to _not_ think of Thor. Did he go on with his life just as easily as if he lost a pet? Did he think of him, of the brother he would never again have?

A cruel part of him always shattered Loki into million sharp pieces. He told himself Thor didn’t miss his old rival for the throne of Asgard, the competitor for attention and acknowledgement, he could now be the only Prince of Asgard. He told himself because he believed it would help him forget.

In reality, it made him cling onto it even more desperately, and he cut himself on the memory of his brother each time he grabbed it.

Eventually it didn’t take too long to see the full picture, and Loki was a boy with keen mind and naturally effortless understanding of politics. His assumption was something easy to believe because it fitted more than the notion of his real father wishing to have his lost son back. He would have called Laufey’s hopes foolish if they weren’t the same as what he had let himself believe for far too long: that Odin would eventually come for Loki, and then Laufey would have the good excuse to start a war and reclaim the Casket of Ancient Winters.

But Odin never came, and in his bitterness Laufey vented it on Loki because in his eyes, Loki represented Asgard, and it was the only way he could take his bloodlust out. Loki was a reminder of his failure not only in his schemes against Odin but also in his own breeding.

This was the time when Loki started to hone his art of pretense and guise. Little white lies always came easily and naturally for him, mostly out of jest and tease, but now they took a dark turn, and he had never suspected how handy they would come one day.

It was so perfect, the front he kept up, that after a while, even in the moments of utmost honesty, not even he could tell what was behind the mask.

It there was anything at all.

 

-o-

 

Everything changed. Their maimed family life started to erode around the edges, and it was all the more painful because every minute, every word shared and so many left unshared reminded Thor of what they had lost.

The marriage between Odin and Frigga disfigured and slipped into a state where it could be considered no more than formal.  There was something between them, something dark that Thor could only identify as grief over Loki, though many times it felt like blame and anger. His brother’s death drove a wedge between his parents permanently. 

Something inside him got discontinued the day Loki died and he never again was able to find the thread of his own life he had lost. He was the firstborn, so the burden of future rule had always been weighing down his shoulders, his father had always set higher expectations for him while Loki had a certain stretch of freedom to follow his own path, but now, if Thor had ever tried hard in the past, he tried now twice as hard to prove better. For now he was the _only_ son.

His father was, in his own way, satisfied with his progress. Thor dove headfirst into politics and statecraft studies he had always avoided and left to Loki to struggle with, as his brother was always better in them, but even the thought of his future made his heart clench. It wasn’t how he always imagined it. When he saw himself on the throne of Asgard, he always saw Loki beside him, his smart, too wise for his age brother who could help him in his childish troubles so many times with perfect advices. Now the idea of ruling Asgard alone was something he wished to procrastinate till eternity because his coronation wasn’t anymore the prospect of a day of glory, rather the legitimation of his loss.

He no more had anyone to confide in, everyone he encountered reminded him of the differences between them and his irrationally idealized brother, and slowly he grew apart even with his friends.

It was many years later that Thor found the courage and will in himself to step on the predefined path alone, take responsibility and behave like the king he should be. They were in the short intermission of a diplomatic campaign when his father entered the Odinsleep, and Thor decided to continue with this father’s plan in his absence. It was about time for the other realms to count with the Crown Prince of Asgard anyway.

Frigga, the always supportive mother, had a troubled expression when he shared his plans with her and it surprised Thor.

“Don’t go to Jötunheim,” and it was almost a plea. “It is a sensitive realm, maybe you are not ready yet.”

“Do not worry, mother. I will go to Nidavellir first. If it works out well, I go to Jötunheim.”

Frigga watched him in earnest apprehension, and this was the first time Thor had the feeling she was praying for his failure in regards to a plan.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

If there was a realm Thor liked less than Muspelheim, the land of the fire demons, it was the land of the Frost Giants.

His father was still asleep when he returned from his successful visit in Nidavellir, and though Frigga tried to reason with him and dissuade him from travelling to Jötunheim, he eventually arrived with only two guards to accompany him. If he could, he would have come with an army of einherjar and even that wouldn’t have been enough, but the last thing he wanted was to alarm the Jötun King. One cannot arrive for diplomatic negotiations with an offensive legion. Their relations with the Jötnar had always been tense and a sensitive subject ever since the ancient wars, and though they had a forced treaty with the Frost Giants, Odin preferred to keep an eye on Jötunheim because they could not be trusted.

King Laufey was just barely polite but Thor could handle that. Upon his arrival, the Jötun had an almost eager expression on his face but as the discussion rolled on, it turned into something akin to disappointment, then even vague hostility.

As he was sitting in the austere throne room, cold and tense, among a handful of Jötnar, the King and his two sons, Thor regretted not listening to his mother. He had a feeling all along that they were casting empty words and promises at each other and there was no intention behind them. It went on for long, Laufey was slow in his talks, slow but sharp like ice easing over the land. It felt like ages when they finally stood, and Thor wanted nothing more than to go back to Asgard and have a hot bath.

“We are surprised the Allfather sent you instead coming here himself,” Laufey remarked with slight offense lacing his words, and the offense was sharply wedged in Thor’s chest, so he held his head higher and claimed:

“I’m the Crown Prince, the Future King of Asgard. I wish to follow my father’s path in diplomacy.”

For a long moment, Laufey was measuring him. “Crown Prince. Only child.”

Thor’s face darkened. “Aye.”

“You are lucky it is so.”

“Lucky?”

Sullenly, Thor glared. Laufey smiled but it only made Thor all the more uneasy. The King gestured at his two bulky and overly bored sons who could barely manage to stay awake during their meeting.

“There is no dispute over the throne.”

Thor couldn’t help the frown that creased his forehead. “I would merrily renounce the throne just to have my brother back.”

“Your brother?” Laufey’s attention seemed to perk up.

“Aye,” Thor scoffed almost rudely, wishing to close the conversation but good manners made him soften his words, and he added. “He died years ago. We couldn’t even retrieve the body and were left to burn an empty boat.”

“How awful,” the Jötun said, and it was with all but compassion, so Thor was deeply surprised when after a heartbeat, Laufey said. “Stay for the evening, Prince Thor. Your first visit to our land requires a handsome feast. Nobody shall say hospitality is unknown to the Jötnar.”

Laufey looked suddenly jovial, and it was more unsettling than when he was outright arrogant. Thor didn’t like the sound of it, but he was too wary in his acts and words so not to make a mistake that might have an unfortunate impact on their fragile relation, therefore he politely nodded and accepted the invitation with feigned gratitude.

 

-o-

 

Asgardian mead was strong but it was no more than harmless must compared to the Jötnar’s spirit. Thor had never had trouble in holding his liquor, but the spirit they served at the table was starting to get to his head. He wasn’t the only one, though. As the night grew old, so did heighten the mood.

Thor was seated at the King’s table alongside with his two sons and a few other Jötnar who Thor guessed were Laufey’s counselors. He felt like a child, inferior and tiny, at the table of the giants, and his discomfort lessened only when he consumed his fair share of the spirit. The Great Hall they were dining in was, in every aspect, the opposite of that of Asgard: it was by no means well lit, the candles had a bluish halo around them and casted their cold light around only meagerly, succeeding more in deepening the shadows than illuminating the hall. There were many other Jötnar at other tables around the chamber, and in the midst of them, the floor was clear and home to bards and a band with the strangest instruments. The songs weren’t unpleasant, simply very strange for Thor’s Asgardian ears, with odd lyrics and discorded notes, ballads of darkness and ice.

And then, when spirit was still flowing like rivers aflame down their throats, Laufey ordered, “Bring the little one.”

It took several minutes before a short, slender Jötun was escorted in the hall by guards looking like rolling rocks off a mountain’s side beside him, and Thor stared. This one was different; not only in his built but he couldn’t really identify where exactly. His posture was graceful, all sinewy limbs like of a dancer, and with frost flower-delicacy. He came to a halt before their table, and over the remnants of the dinner, through the spirit-haze over Thor’s mind and the dimly lit chamber, they stared at each other openly.

There was a strange expression on the Jötun’s face, first something akin to awe as ruby eyes swept across his face, then abruptly a troubled look of fear and astonishment, and Thor thought it might have been the first time he ever met an Asgardian.

“We have an illustrious guest tonight.” Laufey turned to the Jötun.

Loki tore his gaze away from the man with great effort. He could tell easily, their guest was an Asgardian. He seemed to collect the light of the weak candles and compress it all in his body as he was glowing in the darkness. Golden hair, sun-kissed skin and the built of a warrior with a face open and soft and more handsome than Loki had ever seen anyone be. His heart started to beat faster as something stirred deep within him. If he was from Asgard, he had news of—

Loki came to a sudden halt because just one second before Laufey made the announcement he had the same realization, and the world took a spin around him.

“Prince Thor Odinson from Asgard.”

So this was how it finally happened after so many years of miserable yearning, then later hurtful anger and forced oblivion. This was how two brothers were to meet: amidst a drunken feast in a land both felt a stranger in.

Loki stared at the man in front of him, strong in built and mature in face, not the young boy he kept in his memories of the long lost brother, a grown man now, golden and Asgardian in every fiber of his body, and Loki’s heart sank because he was all but. _Thor._ The word fluttered around in his stomach with warmth he hadn’t felt for far too long but the warmth was accompanied by grudge against Thor for not having come for him for all these years and definitely not being here for him even now, but the anger was light as smoke and dissipated at the sight of the same eyes that didn’t change with age, the same smile, boyish and with the silly glint that had always made impossible for Loki to ever be angry with his brother when Thor looked at him that way.

He smiled back with his old smile, too, it was a simple reflex pulled forth by its stimulus, though it was trembling around the corners until he realized: Thor didn’t recognize him. And it was both a relief and pain because this form was the last he wanted to emerge in before the brother he hadn’t seen for so many years, and yet it hurt so much because he foolishly fancied their brotherhood went far beyond simple appearances.

“Entertain us,” Laufey commanded, and Loki started with a jolt.

He began to realize only now what scheme his father was setting up now. Laufey knew very well what their guest meant to Loki, and he also knew Thor was oblivious of what was going on. His jaws clenched. It was fitting. Just one of the dirty beads on a string of deeds fabricated to humiliate him, and this was the greatest of all because this was the first that _mattered_ to Loki. He stole a glance at Thor. His brother was watching him with mild anticipation, and Loki felt his stomach constrict with anxiety.

Thor could sense something wasn’t right. The air was vibrating with tension and the stony faces of Laufey and the small Jötun told him stories of a hostile history between the two. There was long hesitation from the Jötun’s part and Thor eyed him in confusion.

Then he started to sing ever so quietly, and it was the purest of beauty. Thor leant forward to catch the delicate voice, and he knew what he was feeling was akin to captivation. The Jötun’s voice was small and trembling like a wingless bird trying to rise. It faltered many times, and Thor, thinking he was only nervous about singing for a royal guest, smiled at him encouragingly but it only caused the tones fill up with the burden of emotions, and as he was listening to it, though the ballads were just as strange as before, Thor felt a deep sorrow he couldn’t name build up in his chest.

The Jötnar were loud now and drunk, and Laufey snorted with distaste beside Thor but he paid no heed. It felt like the bard was singing only to him, and he wished it would never be over. He hardly noticed a handful of dancers imitating a play on the clearance among the tables, and seeing their brisk movements, they looked rather laughable for Thor’s eyes.

“Enough,” Laufey snapped, and the bard stopped, suddenly appearing frightful. “Let us see if you can dance better than sing tonight.”

Desperately, the Jötun pleaded, “I beg of you-“

“This is no subject of discussion. You dance for Prince Thor as we ordered.”

The silence was tight and ominous. Thor wanted to object and save the poor Jötun from his misery, but the band started with new accords and the Jötun lifted his arms and moved albeit reluctantly, and suddenly Thor’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

It was nothing like the stone-like grace of the other Jötnar. Thor stared enraptured at the slow bends and bows, at the slender waist and arms, at the elegance of the neck as the Jötun leant his head back, at the sweep of ebony-dark hair, and suddenly Thor wanted to know if it felt as silky among his fingers as it looked.

“Who is this? Is he a child?” Thor mumbled to Laufey, trying not to watch so openly and yet watch with every cell of his body. The Jötun symbols rippled on the blue skin with every movement, and Thor was longing to know what they meant, longing to follow the lines with his fingertips. The thought made his face heat up in surprise and shame.

The king’s answer, however, tore his eyes from the sight, and he stared at Laufey in utter shock.

“He is our son. He is a runt. Not tall and strong enough for fight. He is worthless for anything apart from entertainment, and even in that he fails. A failure.”

And Thor only gaped at him because the son he called a failure was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen.

There was a shift in the music and Thor only realized it when the Jötun moved closer to him and he understood what exactly it meant to dance _for him_. The movements were now almost seductive as the Jötun skirted his chair, and there were almost-touches hovering above his skin and dancing away again like the sweetest temptation.

Thor’s transfixed focus shrank to only the two of them, and there was nothing else but a yearning so strong it surprised him. The Jötun leant in, cheek touching his, and he could feel the puffs of breath against his neck, and Thor closed his eyes and inhaled deeply the humid fragrance of lichen and rime.

Nestled close to him, Loki did the same. It was the scent of Asgard, the color of his old home he didn’t remember anymore but by touching Thor, it all came back with a rush of overwhelming sensation. He closed his eyes and thought of the sunlit, green groves, the sweet waterfalls, the ripe apples in Frigga’s garden. He wanted to taste them so much, to have it, have Asgard on his tongue, its honey water and mellow fruits, and he pressed a kiss against Thor’s neck. Thor shuddered, an almost inaudible gasp escaping his lips, and Loki retreated with a start. He looked at Thor’s face, and there was something different there, something he didn’t expect: the blue eyes, now almost consumed by the black bugs of his pupils, swept across his face with something bordering on desire. Loki drew farther but a strong hand encircled his elbow as Thor held him in place, watching him softly, tenderly, with a mixture of curiosity and awe, and the look spiraled Loki into panic. He tore his arm away and with the force of the pull he knocked the table, toppling many glasses and spilling their contents across the table.

Laufey stood abruptly.

“Enough of this.” And his voice was low and menacing. Louder, he said, “The next!”

In terror, Loki cried. “No, please. I can do it better, I try-”

Laufey cut him short by repeating, “The next.”

Thor only looked, more preoccupied with the fact that he was half-aroused and his tunic did only a barely sufficient job in concealing it, and he didn’t understand himself, didn’t understand why his body reacted the way it did. Never before had it happened to him to desire not only a man but also someone from a different race. He squirmed uncomfortably while guards moved across the hall and the king’s son whined in pure horror.

Loki knew all too well what was coming, the utter humiliation they could impose on him, and though he would anytime bear it silently, this was a different time. He knew it was to no avail because it only chased Laufey deeper into cruelty, but he couldn’t help but plead and beg because the thought of such humiliation with his brother witnessing it, even if Thor had no idea who Loki was, was unbearable.

Thor watched with trepidation as the guards hauled the Jötun to the clearing and forced him on all fours. And suddenly another Frost Giant appeared, bulky and hungry in his movements. He bowed before Laufey and the king made a gesture with his hand like he was granting a favor, and the Jötun moved to kneel right behind the king’s son.

All at once, Thor understood what was unfolding right before his eyes. Horrified, he watched as the drapes were swept away from the small Jötun’s waist and brute hands grabbed his hips as weak pleas were still spilling from his lips. Thor was afraid he was going to be sick.

“Why are you doing this?” he croaked, and amidst the delirious cheer of the Jötnar, Laufey leant closer with the lazy satisfaction of drunken men.

“This is a Jötun tradition. He is punished when he deserves it, and it is plenty often. Do not worry, he can take it. He can take much more. It is a genius invention. He is our son, so anyone taking him should feel honored. There is a waiting list of heroes and warriors deserve to be honored, and when we need to punish this worthless boy, the next on the list can claim the prize. When his failure is enormous, we might use more warriors under the same punishment.”

“You need to stop this madness,” Thor choked, taken aback at such cruelty and deviancy.

Laufey squinted at him, the dim candlelight cast reflection in his eyes with alarming red, and all at once he did not look so drunk anymore but very alert, very vile. He faced Thor with the guise of a solemn smile but it was almost evil around the edges.

“You are right, Prince Thor. Forgive our discourtesy. Of course, being our honorable guest this evening, you earned the right to have our son. It will show our true intentions in having peace with Asgard.”

And Laufey waved a hand to stop the horrendous séance.

Suddenly Thor was very sober. “No! How could I?”

Laufey hissed, “Would you offend us with a rejection?”

“Of course nothing could be further from my intentions, but we are not used to such treatment on Asgard.”

“You cannot expect us to change it, Asgardian. You come here and seek peace with us, yet you disrespect our tradition.”

“I do not. I only… I’m not interested in males,” he added weakly. He knew it was truth and falsity in one because yes, his interest had always lain in females… until this one. He felt the pull toward him deep in his guts and, at the prospect of what Laufey offered, also in his groins.

“The boy’s dance is said to have its effect on everyone. If it failed this time, we will punish him severely.”

Feeling like a small rodent in a trap, running around in circles and knowing all too clearly that there was no way out, Thor mumbled, “There is no need for punishment.”

“Then accept our humble gift, though the greatest we can offer. This act will symbolize how Jötunheim is conquered by Asgard.”

Thor’s face darkened at the indecent metaphor. “I am not here to conquer, King Laufey.”

“You say we are equals?”

Thor frowned, sensing the danger. So he opted for staying silent.

“Then we require the Casket of Ancient Winters, our rightful heritage.”

This was his greatest fear: that a possible diplomatic failure would bring war upon Asgard, so he ground out his resentful consent. “I gratefully accept your generous gift.”

“Please, no.”

It was the Jötun boy, now crouching alone on the cold floor. He was glaring at his father in gall so thick that it was almost palpable but behind it, it was nothing but disbelief and desperation. It made Thor feel sick to the stomach but he had already decided.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed as he approached the Jötun but he didn’t look at him. His face was hidden behind his hair and Thor touched his shoulder gently as he leant over him and repeated: “I’m so sorry.”

The Jötun didn’t react, only the slight tremble of his body answered. He sat hunched back on his heels, coiled into himself like a boneless rag doll.

It was hard. Thor was aware of the eyes watching them, but the relative darkness helped and there were no faces, only looming shadows beyond the circle of the light where they were sitting.

Thor crouched behind the Jötun, realizing all too late what Laufey had just forced him into. The King not only made him humiliate his son but with the same barbaric act he achieved that an Áss humiliated himself before the court of the Jötnar. He had never abased anyone so severely, and he was disgusted at what he was about to commit, but at the same time he couldn’t help the desire circling in his veins.

Brushing the hair out of the way, he kissed the pale nape, the embedded marks crossing it, and the boy gasped. Thor ran a finger down his spine, tracing it down then up again slowly, affectionately and patiently until it uncoiled and the slender body opened like a flower when it blossoms. He kissed his shoulders, traced the Jötun marks, enraptured by the strange beauty.

Everything was nightmarishly improbable. Loki pressed his eyes shut, but even through the anger for his father bubbling in the pit of his stomach like a poisonous tide he was acutely aware what Thor’s touches and kisses falling on his skin like dandelions aroused in him, his familiarity and strangeness. He felt conflicted and miserable because it was almost impossible to forget that it was his brother and that Thor had no idea about it. And, in that moment, he decided unselfishly: if it was for him, Thor would never learn the truth, no matter how much Loki wanted to get his old life back, how much he missed what he had lost so long ago. But maybe it was something that could never be brought back.

“Why are you taking it so slow?” snapped Laufey impatiently, and Thor smiled back, but it was rather a snarl, and he used Laufey’s weapon against him. This was so much he could do.

“I can only accept your gracious gift in my own Asgardian way, everything else would be indecent to such honor.”

Thor couldn’t assess how long it lasted. After a while it was no more than a blur of skin, quickened breaths and gasps that were to be kept in secret. His mind was intoxicated by the exotic taste and scent, and he couldn’t think straight anymore. The Jötun was leaning in his touch with only the slightest of reluctance, and when he leant his head back, exposing the perfect column of his throat, the pale Jötun symbols running from his jawline to his collarbone, it was the most wonderful thing Thor could ever imagine.

When he finally took the Jötun, it felt like they had known each other for a lifetime.

Thor was grateful for his tunic so they could stay as decent as possible in such act. He bent over the Jötun, chest against taut back, beautiful muscles working under his lips as he pressed his face against cool shoulder blade. As his hand skimmed across the other’s abdomen, Thor could feel the half-hardness of his erection, and it somehow lessened his guilty feeling. He refused to give any satisfaction to the primitive band of Jötnar by a spectacular display of completion, so he hid his face in the nest of ebony hair, as silky as he had imagined, and groaned against it as he came.

He pulled the Jötun’s garment in place, adjusted his own tunic and stood. As an afterthought, he unclasped his fur coat and draped it over the Jötun who stayed kneeling on the floor like he thought they were not yet over with him, and Thor grew troubled at the idea.

“You accomplished something no one has ever managed to,” Laufey mused like it was a piece of fine art laid before him.

Thor, just barely restraining his hostility, looked over Laufey warily.

“You gave him pleasure,” and there was a wolfish look to his face as if he was enjoying a joke Thor didn’t understand. He took a sideward glance at the boy who crouched shamefully before him, his face a darker shade of blue as he blushed. Pity and guilt rose high in Thor, and determinedly he spoke up.

“May I be so bold and ask you just one favor, King Laufey? Honor me with the gift and let me take him to my bedchamber for this night.”

Thor tried to ignore the startled expression on the boy’s face and stared at Laufey instead. He expected objection but to his surprise the cruel glint lit up once more on Laufey’s face and with a smirk Thor grew uneasy about he nodded.

“It is granted. Take your pleasure, Prince Thor.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

The Jötun was already there when Thor entered his bedchamber. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. A frightened blue halcyon: this was how he looked in the dancing light of the fireplace. The Jötnar were courteous enough to lay a fire in the hearth for Thor so he wouldn’t freeze over the night.

The Jötun was watching him silently, his crimson gaze now ablaze and alive as the flames were reflected in them. He was still wrapped in Thor’s fur coat but Thor doubted that it was out of decency or feeling cold, rather for a semblance of safety.

“Do not be afraid of me.” Thor stepped closer and the Jötun rose. “I brought you here so I would save you from further abuse. I won’t touch you. Not if you don’t want me to,” he admitted, and felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

“Thank you.”

Thor couldn’t overlook how the taut shoulders sank with relief, and however he chastised himself for it, he couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed.

“Please forgive me for what I did, I had no other choice. Asgard cannot wage a war now against Jötunheim.”

“My father deceits you, Prince Thor,” Loki said. “He doesn’t desire anything more than war.”

“He is playing with me, I know. He is laughing behind my back,” Thor nodded bitterly. For a moment he was tempted to ask whether the whole disgracing rite that he was forced to take part in was really a Jötun tradition as Laufey had told him but he changed his mind. The topic wasn’t anything that the poor Jötun would happily discuss, he was sure of that. “Mother was right, I should not have come. All he wants is the Casket.”

His heart skipped a beat and Loki pressed a trembling hand to his chest. _Mother_. He wanted to ask how she was, if she still thought of his lost son, because in the darkest hours Loki still thought of her.

“Yes. He is willing to do anything for it,” Loki mumbled, swallowing the sensation of loss that was no more than the echo of a loss he had fought and buried deep many years before.

“There is naught to do now. I did everything in my power. I loathe it, though, the price I had to pay.”

“I’m sorry,” Loki whispered and he swallowed again because Thor’s words shattered a foolish wish in him that he would still be accepted and loved even in his true form and not being a source of disgust.

Thor snorted incredulously. “You are sorry? _I am_. For making it happen in such circumstance. Without your consent.” His hand fluttered forward and brushed against his own coat as Thor bit his lip, and sheepishly, a bit wistfully, he whispered. “You are so different. So beautiful.”

Loki held his arm out, taken aback, turning it so the bluish hue sparked up in the candle light.

“I’m a monster.”

“No! Skin does not determine it. They are monsters. Even I am more of a monster,” Thor snapped heatedly, washed over by the perpetual guilt.

His hand skimmed along Loki’s jawline, and he leant in the touch, Thor’s warmth burning his skin, making the impression as if it would leave a mark. He would not mind it because that would be all he could ever have.

They settled in the bed for the night, Thor under many layers of fur while Loki kept only the fur coat, burying his nose in its folds to catch his brother’s scent. For a moment he contemplated asking Thor to give him the coat but he decided against it. It would only make him heal all the slower, if healing was possible at all after what just happened.

They were facing each other, and no matter how tired Thor felt, he found difficulty in closing his eyes. Though he had promised he wouldn’t touch, his fingers crept over the Jötun’s hand, skin smooth and cool beneath his. He was trailing every mark and imprint of it like he was drawing it into his own mind and into the skin of his thumbs so he would forever remember it. His strokes were asking for forgiveness and singing adoration.

He was gentle and taking time with each dent and curve along the arm, sneaking up to the shoulders and brushing along the forehead, and the Jötun sighed under his caress with a tone of surprise. He was trembling, and there were tears in his eyes, painting dots around them, each one with the perfection of ice flowers.

“Nobody has ever touched you like this,” Thor said, and it wasn’t even a question, rather a stunned realization. He shook his head, and Thor couldn’t help the pity overflowing his chest. He rose to his elbow, crossing the space between them, and he whispered against the beads of tears. “I don’t understand myself. It is like I have always been waiting for you. Like I have always known you.”

Loki’s breath got stuck in his throat, and the fear that Thor might recognize him petrified him. He could live with the guilt he had so little say in, carry the burden of their sin for both of them but he didn’t want Thor to remember him like that, the disgraced once-son of Asgard, a Frost Giant of no more value than a thrall even among his own kin. And what would they achieve, what would Thor do in the light of the truth? The brother he remembered was sometimes too quick in his decisions. In the heart of Jötunheim, Thor could do nothing but end up in trouble, and Loki feared his life.

Maybe it was a twisted effort to save Thor from further dwelling: Loki lifted his head and kissed him.

Their second coupling was intimate and heated, equally passionate and gentle, and Thor wanted to make up for everything, his own sins and the Jötnar’s sins as well, and so much more. The Jötun was pliant, bending gracefully like iron held in fire, and this time Thor gave him real pleasure he was proud of. He was clinging to him with his slender arms like he never wanted to let him go, and Thor’s heart jumped with hope at the thought of keeping the Jötun for himself forever.

Afterwards Thor held him close, drilling his head in the crook of the pale shoulders, cooling his overheated forehead.

“You remind me of someone,” Thor whispered suddenly. The hands on his back came to a halt on their cyclical route between his shoulder blades, and the body underneath him tensed. “Come with me to Asgard. There you don’t have to suffer such treatment.”

“Laufey would take it as a good reason for his war.”

Vigorous anew, Thor lifted his head. “Your father… pardon me for saying that, he doesn’t really seem to care much about you.”

“He does not indeed. But I’m a good value in trade. He would maybe trade his son in…for the Casket.”

“I hate diplomacy. I’ve always been more of a warrior,” Thor groaned.

Loki smiled at him because from this aspect, his brother didn’t change much. His heart swelled with affection, and in that moment it didn’t even seem all that sinful that they had been joining in perfect harmony. Two brothers. Two once-brothers. From this sin, how darkly fitting, a light emerged in his chest that Loki knew he would draw close to feel its warmth for the rest of his life. It was a treasure he conjured out of this night, something to be cherished however twisted it was.

“I’m a Jötun. Maybe the Asgardians wouldn’t treat me in such way but I would be an outcast there, too, a stranger, someone who does not belong, someone who is the enemy. They would look upon me with no better than despise. Go home, Prince Thor, and never look back.”

Thor looked at him like he was about to argue, and because Loki didn’t feel strong enough to further resist if Thor would insist, for he had to deny himself the only thing he had ever wanted and it was too great a sacrifice, he asked instead, “Who do I remind you of?”

Thor’s face clouded, and when Loki looked at him, his eyes were forlorn and so was his smile. “Someone I loved. Someone I lost.”

“Someone you loved…” he whispered, ghost of his breath caressing Thor’s cheek, and it was a strange feeling gnawing at his heart, a feeling he hadn’t felt for a long while: jealousy. It spread in his guts like weed but at Thor’s next words he wanted to laugh at himself for his everlasting glum.

“Once I had a brother. He was the dearest to my heart in the nine realms, and I fear he died without knowing it.”

“Died?” Loki echoed emptily, taken aback. “How?”

“He drowned in the river. His body was carried away by the tide, and we never found it. The Gatekeeper who sees everything brought the tidings to my parents. I lit the boat. The empty boat--” Thor’s voice cracked, and he swallowed hard.

Loki fell in silence. His heart beat with lively thuds in his chest because it would explain so many things, it would explain why Thor had never come for him, why he didn’t recognize him. He was never forgotten.

“It was a long time ago, but it makes me feel ashamed. When I try to recall his face, it is only a blur of emotions and colors. His voice faded, too. I remember only his laugh. It lit up his face,” Thor tried to smile around the sudden tears welling up in his eyes but it was a pathetic sight. “I don’t want to forget all these details because it shows as if he didn’t mean that much. I want it to hurt, just like it did back then.”

“This is how it works. It is no fault of yours.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I would be a different man, had he lived. Certainly. And how would he be? I imagine him tall and cunning and all mischievous because he loved tricks, he loved conjuring laughs out of others.” Thor turned his head toward him and smiled. “I’m sorry. I haven’t talked about him for years. And now I feel I’m finally able to.”

He grabbed the slender wrist, and suddenly he was in peace.

“What is your name?”

“They didn’t give me name here. I am Laufey’s son.”

“Maybe I can give you one,” Thor smiled. He stroked the pale face with the heel of his hand, and whispered. “Loki.”

And Loki shivered, and there was a horrible tightness in his chest as tears sprang to his eyes. He hadn’t heard this name for so long. Nobody called him Loki anymore, and after a while even he forgot his own Asgardian name. It faded away with his memories of his childhood and youth.

“Loki,” he croaked, and Thor smiled.

“This was his name. My brother’s name.”

“Loki,” and he was crying now, reflecting Thor’s tears, and only Loki knew they both were mourning the same person who perished many years ago.

“I will come back for you, I promise.”

“No!” Loki groaned with broken vehemence. “Go back and forget me.”

But he kissed Thor with such desperation that Thor could all but take him seriously.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

His father was already awake the morning Thor returned to Asgard. They were already waiting for him with his mother.

Thor was in foul mood. When he woke that morning in the cold bedchamber in King Laufey’s palace, the small Jötun - _Loki_ , he smiled to himself, remembering the name he had kept in his heart as treasure and had given to the Jötun- wasn’t beside him and he had to leave Jötunheim without bidding farewell to him. It was harder than he had thought, and he had no inkling why. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to his bedchamber, hide behind the closed doors and ride this out of his body and mind, the unending, unreasonable yearning.

His father, however, required reports about his journeys so he told him about Nidavellir and told him about Jötunheim but it was a shortened version. He doubted he could ever mention to anyone what he had seen and done there, not to the extent of the full truth. His parents were watching him tensely, his mother pale and worried to an degree that puzzled Thor.

“I am no fond of Laufey. He is foul,” he concluded finally. “I don’t regard him trustworthy. He is barbaric.”

“What do you base this assumption on?” Odin asked, and though Thor didn’t want to, it eventually spilled out of him.

“He… he has a son. A boy so different,” he swallowed. With the guilt and bitterness, he tried to swallow the taste of the boy, too, enticing on his tongue. “A runt, and apparently Laufey takes his disappointment out on him. He punishes the boy so severely and cruelly. How could we trust someone who deals with his own blood in such a revolting way?”

He didn’t understand why his mother shuddered. Frigga, horrified, asked, “The boy. He has an unhappy life?”

The question was so unexpected and odd that Thor replied with stunned bluntness. “I think he is miserable.”

The chair screeched against the floor as Frigga pushed it back, and for a second her gaze landed heavily on Odin before she hurried out of the chamber.

In the ensuing silence, Thor studied his father in confused curiosity.

“Forgive your mother, Thor. Her reaction on such stories about children has been harsh ever since...”

And he didn’t finish but both of them knew. Ever since Loki.

 

-o-

 

The following weeks were the nadir of their family life. His parents didn’t even dine together anymore, and an unnamable shadow was looming over the palace, sometimes even literally as clouds were marching across the usually sunlit Asgardian skies, dark creations of Frigga’s mood. Thor tried to talk to her, sooth her and mend something he couldn’t even identify, but she shut herself away from them.

If he was honest to himself, it suited him well. Day after day it was a constant worry about _Loki_ , whether Laufey’s mistreatment went on with the same or worse ferocity. He tried to forge reasons and arguments for his father to convince Odin that they should march into Jötunheim, but in the final moment he realized he would only ridicule himself and sacrifice Asgard for his own purposes. He was considering sneaking into Jötunheim and simply stealing Loki and smuggling him into Asgard so he could keep him safe here, but it was laughable. Then he realized he didn’t even consider that the attraction might not be mutual and the Jötun didn’t desire to spend the rest of his life in Thor’s company.

He was slowly torturing himself into a shadow of his past self. He had never felt so helpless before, bound by responsibility and common sense. Odin asked him if there was something he failed to mention, something that was deeply bothering him but Thor lied and denied the obvious. It resulted in Odin watching him closely every time they met. Thor could feel his father’s gaze on him, unwavering, searching, and he was frightened that he might know, he might figure out that Thor left his inner peace in Jötunheim, along with his heart.

Finally, it was the much hated warlords of Muspelheim who saved him from further self-destruction. The scouts came and brought the news of Laufey secretly making an alliance with the fire demons of Muspelheim, the race Asgard had always thought at with fear and worry. They all knew the ancient prophecy, how the demon fire would engulf and perish Asgard to ashes.

Odin wanted to cut off the aiding limb that was Jötunheim before they could fully develop their plans against Asgard, and Thor whole-heartedly supported him in setting up an army against the Frost Giants.

 

-o-

 

Thor had been trying to find him from the very beginning in the cacophony of clashing weapons and bodies as the battle unfolded when he remembered what Laufey had said about his son, how he was regarded useless in fight. The worry, though, kept him distracted until he spotted Laufey in a fierce fight with Odin. It was the replay of the duel Odin had told them about when they were children with his brother, the battle when Asgard won over Jötunheim and took the Casket with them.

Once again, Odin was victorious, and as Laufey fell to the ground and was held at spearpoint by Gungnir, Thor jumped in and pushed his father aside. He grabbed Laufey by his fur cape, and his voice was a hoarse croak as he yelled, “Where is he?”

Laufey sneered at him and asked, “So you finally know the truth, Prince Thor? Are you horrified at yourself for what you did?”

In his confusion, Thor almost let go of Laufey. The Jötun’s smirk widened and his gaze shifted to Odin for a second before it fixated Thor’s blank expression yet again.

“You still don’t know?” And he was laughing coldly as if it wasn’t him lying at the mercy of Asgardians. “Nobody told you, poor Crown Prince of Asgard, that the reason you burnt an empty boat is not because they could not find the body. It is because your brother never even died.”

This time, he let go of Laufey.

“Yes, my Prince. The brother we claimed back from the Allfather after he stole him from us along with the Casket. The brother you named Loki.”

His knees trembled.

_Loki never died. Loki lives._

He felt the shadow of foreboding looming above him, breathing in his neck, and though everything was so absurd, he knew Laufey was telling the truth because what else would toss him in such great entertainment than the fateful missteps of the gods of Asgard. He looked at his father for confirmation.

And the earth seemed to open underneath him as Odin nodded.

“Loki indeed never died. He is Laufey’s son, not mine. He is here in Jötunheim.”

In the dumb silence, over the roar of his own blood in his ears, it crushed down on him: not the fact that their lives were built upon a lie and eventually fell apart at the hinges. No. It was that fateful night and Laufey’s deception that turned lead in his guts; the memory of ice flower tears, Loki’s tears, the _real_ Loki’s tears, his pleas, his humiliation, and the guilt clawed at Thor with its poisonous talons. Loki had known, he all along knew who Thor was, and he bore it in silence because he had no other choice, and he took upon him their common sin. Thor understood now the longing that bound him to the Jötun beyond rationality and reason.

Laufey’s wolf-smile lit up again, his words gloating as he drawled, “Do you now realize, Prince Thor, that you bedded your own beloved brother?”

Beyond the fog in his head, he sensed Odin stir beside him but he didn’t feel brave enough to face him and admit it. He wanted to turn to his father and scream and accuse and claim answers as to why they lied, how they dared to keep the truth locked away from him, he wanted with all his heart to blame them for what _he_ did to Loki, but he couldn’t. Only one thought emerged in his mind with crystal-clarity, only one wish: to find Loki and take him back where he belonged.

“Where is he?”

“In the dungeons.” Laufey was all too helpful, his razor smile twisted the knot in Thor’s stomach even before the king added: “But maybe it is no more than a body by now.”

And leaving everything behind, comrades and foes, lies and guilt, Thor was fighting his way through the army and barreled to the castle of rock and ice. The dungeon was dark and empty, his voice as he called Loki’s name ricocheted off the cold walls. In panic, he ran down the aisle between the cells. He could hardly make out their interior in the dim light filtering in the narrow hole-like windows. There was a stir to his right, and he broke down the bars with one swing of Mjöllnir.

Loki was lying on his side, a small bundle of torn fur and skin. Even in the low light Thor could see how thin he was, how bloody and weak. For a second he wondered if he had been here ever since Thor left.

“Loki,” he whispered as if he didn’t want to disturb him in his slumber, but in fact it was fear leashing his voice that probably he came too late, but Loki raised his head.

“You returned,” he gasped and pushed himself up against the wall.

Thor fell on his knees beside him. His hands reached out and cupped Loki’s face tenderly. “I promised so, brother.”

“So you know?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Thor asked desperately. In the dark it was easier to look at his brother. He fancied here he could hide the shame in his eyes.

In the dark, Thor could only sense that Loki blushed. His voice was thick with emotions. “I didn’t want you to know what has become of me. I was mortified and ashamed. And then, when we… I didn’t want you to beat yourself up over it. Loki should have stayed dead.”

“No. Loki should have never even died.” Thor took off his coat and wrapped it around Loki’s shoulder. “What have they done to you?”

“Nothing.” And it was a hint of pride ringing in Loki’s voice. “After you left, I was no more willing to let anyone touch me again. I think my father had finally enough of me when he realized I would fight to the last breath and rather die. So he put me here. A slow death would be much preferred than a sudden one.”

Thor slipped his arm around Loki’s battered body and stood.

“I take you with me now. Laufey will have to come to Asgard and raze it to the ground, and even then he would not have you again if I have a say in that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the half-assed political scheme..


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 

They brought Loki to Eir’s infirmary. At first the healer looked taken aback by the sight of a frost giant in her premises but she knew better than to question the orders she was given and tended to Loki’s wounds without a word.

They barely arrived when Frigga rushed in, short of breath, flushed and upset. She didn’t falter, not even for a second, and Thor was wondering if it was the mother’s heart that recognized the son in any circumstances, no matter how long they hadn’t seen each other or the color of their skin. She hugged Loki and she cried and Loki buried his face in the folds of her robe, in the familiar scent of gentleness and caress.

“I cannot ever forgive myself for not having been strong enough. For letting you go,” Frigga whispered against his hair, rocking his son as if he was still a child, and Loki clung onto her just like one. “I regretted it every day. It is a burden I willingly carry forever. Even more willingly now that you are safe.”

And Loki knew it was true. He also knew these words didn’t even give credit to reality. He could sense the sadness around his mother, it was like a lingering scent she carried around with her. For so many years he had thought he wouldn’t ever be able to forgive them for letting him go, but he could not be so with the mother he knew for certain had suffered as much.

“Mother,” he whispered, and it was all he said.

 

-o-

 

“What will happen now? Did I bring war upon Asgard?” Loki asked one day.

He was gradually gaining strength, his wounds healing. Thor spent his every free minute by his bedside, starting and finishing his day at Eir’s chambers, but there were things they were reluctant to talk about and many times they let silence reign instead.

Thor had an undignified quarrel with his parents, years of painful mourning spat up, a horrible exchange of blames and awkward uncomfortable questions. He still could not comprehend why they deemed that lying to him was the best solution. The only explanation he received - _you would have marched into Jötunheim like a fool at the first chance you had_ \- held too much truth, though, for him to deny: maybe they could let their younger son go but Thor could not give up his brother.

“Father thinks there is only little chance for it,” he replied before pulling on a troubled, unsure expression. “Loki, you should know that in the battle in Jötunheim, your… brothers fell.”

Thor looked at him like he wasn’t sure how much the news would upset Loki, what feelings he cherished in him for his _other_ brothers. Loki tried to gauge his own feelings. He found only the slightest of grief in his heart, and even that was unreasonable. Neither Helblindi nor [Býleistr](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B%C3%BDleistr) ever behaved toward him like brothers should, but they were still too young to die.

“Father’s opinion is that if Laufey reclaimed you, it would also mean you would have the succession to the Jötun throne, and it is very unlikely Laufey would want you to sit there.”

“They are better off without a king than with me,” he commented darkly.

The silence was heavy with dark knowledge, with sins too great to be voiced.

“You want your brother back, Thor, is it so?” Loki watched him with sudden sadness. Thor returned the gaze warily, not even nodding, not stirring but Loki didn’t need an answer. “You cannot. The boy who left Asgard that day is not the one who returned now.”

“What do you say?”

“You know very well how they treated me. What they did to me.”

At that moment, Thor was unable to meet his eyes. What _they_ did. What _he himself_ did. The monstrosity of those deeds, years of constant humiliation. Rage started to bubble up his chest, and he wished he had killed Laufey, slowly and cruelly for treating Loki that way. The wrath stretching his body was so great that he could have torn Jötunheim apart with his bare hands but the feeling collapsed in on itself at Loki’s next words.

“I’m broken beyond fixing, Thor.”

“What do you say?” Thor repeated, shaken to the core. “I… I will fix you.”

“Oh, the same old arrogance,” Loki smiled at him, but it wasn’t ill. “I thought I would never see it again.”

“Loki… I can’t lose you again. I can’t. I just…”

Thor looked so pathetically helpless that Loki felt sorry for him. “I won’t go anywhere,” he whispered, and it seemed to put Thor at ease. Only Loki knew it didn’t mean he returned. What Thor would keep close to himself was a shell, a broken toy he wouldn’t harbor interest for far too long.

They were engaged in silence for some time before Thor spoke up again.

“Do you want your Aesir form back, Loki? Father said if you wished so, he can grant you that.”

Loki looked at him for long, his gaze examining Thor’s face, trying to find the answer there to a question he didn’t dare to ask.

As if reading his mind, Thor smiled at him. “You have to know I don’t mind your true form. No matter what you choose, you are beloved either way.”

Loki’s smile was a relieved one. “Thank you, Thor. I will think about it.”

 

-o-

 

It was two days later. In the morning when Thor came to entertain Loki while he had his breakfast like he usually did, Loki was still asleep. Thor stepped closer to the bed, and Loki stirred and opened his eyes, and Thor was standing there rooted to the spot, and he felt for the first time since he knew the truth of his brother’s death that it was real. The veil covering the world since Loki’s death was finally lifted, and Thor stared at the creamy face, at the emerald eyes he didn’t understand how he could ever forget how shiny they were, how clear and vibrant, and tears were gathering behind his eyelids because now he could truly recognize the brother he had lost, matured than he remembered but still with similar features.

“Brother…”

The word fell between them but neither knew who uttered it.

Loki sat up slowly, not understanding Thor’s expression, why he was so shaken, so upset. Then his gaze fell on his own arms, his bare chest, and with a jolt of realization, he shrank back. He knew it was irrational but he felt more naked than ever before in his Jötun form.

Thor was there in a heartbeat and he pulled him to his chest in an iron embrace, murmuring in his ear with broken voice: “Never leave me, brother, never leave me again.”

Loki hugged him back, relishing in the feel of the embrace that awakened the strangest mixture of feelings and memories, old and recent ones too, and there was a maddening moment when he couldn’t distinguish between them and didn’t know if he should at all. Those moments in Jötunheim when they were _not_ brothers were forever imprinted in his skin beyond its color.

Neither knew at the moment that the newest development made the split in their warped relationship only wider.

 

-o-

 

Loki figured out in the painful way that something was amiss. After the day he regained his Aesir guise, something in Thor’s behavior changed. Before that, it had been heavy with awkward silences and involuntary touches that were withdrawn sometimes a second too late, but now there was none. Loki caught him secretly staring at him when he thought Loki didn’t look, and it was always the strangest blend of emotions written all over his face. Thor had always been so easy to read, and it didn’t really change in the past years.

When it was only the two of them, it was even more awkward, burdened with memories they should not remember, with guilt they couldn’t decide if they should really feel. They didn’t know what to do with this new feeling that didn’t fit in their brotherly relationship. They tried to behave like brothers but something felt not right, and it was only Loki who slowly understood they couldn’t pretend that they could go back to being brothers as they couldn’t just simply forget what happened in Jötunheim either. The feeling that was borne there in them was still there and couldn’t be turned back around.

“You are unhappy, brother,” Thor told him one day, and it was new because in the past he rarely was perceptive enough when it came to Loki’s emotions. He looked so worried, so distressed that Loki felt pity for him. “You miss Jötunheim?”

“How could I miss it, you big oaf?” Loki said incredulously, and it was the same smile on his lips, the one Thor had missed so greatly.

Thor laughed, chest bursting with sudden joy. “Nobody has called me that since you.”

“Thor. Nobody has _ever_ called you that.” He reached out with the fakest sour expression he could summon, and smoothed the folds of Thor’s tunic on his chest, adjusted his collar, appearing like a reproaching father, but his eyes were gleaming with jest. “Somehow they all failed to see what you are.”

Thor laughed again and pulled him to his chest lovingly. They stood stock still in the onrush of sensation, and Loki mumbled around the lump in his throat more out of desire to shift his focus to something neutral than anything else.

“I need time to find my old life. Then again, there might be naught to find.”

Thor only nodded against his shoulder, and there was a split of a second when his lips grazed the skin on Loki’s neck before he pulled away, and Loki knew, if it was for Thor, he would not let himself slip again and cross the physical border he had set up for himself with such meticulous care.

 

-o-

 

When Thor entered his room, he didn’t see him first. He took a few steps and started at the sight of the figure sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Loki.”

Loki stood, and the shadows shifted on his lithe body, emphasizing the blue hue just perfectly. He smiled because lately Thor didn’t use his name. When he addressed him, it was with the eternal _brother_ falling from his lips.

“Why are you back in your Jötun form?”

“Does it bother you?” he stepped closer, and he saw how it took all Thor’s power not to retreat, but not by far out of fear.

Thor swallowed. He couldn’t help but run his gaze up and down Loki, following the light marks of his skin until they disappeared behind the hem of his clothes, and even then following them with his mind’s eye because he fancied he knew them better than he knew the back of his own hand. He remembered their taste, too, and it put even the best meal he had ever had to shame.

“Why would it bother me?”

“Because when I’m in my true form, you realized that it comes harder for you to think of me as a brother than as a lover.” A soft smiled grazed Loki’s lips at how Thor started to fidget and he didn’t need his confirmation that his assumptions were correct. “I noticed you were avoiding me, Thor. You avoid touching me.”

“You want to be touched?” Thor mumbled dumbly.

“Maybe,” Loki sighed. He rubbed his forehead, and suddenly dropped all manners and restrain. “We cannot pretend it has never happened, Thor. It is either we sit down and agree that we go back to being brothers or we take this to a whole new level. But we cannot avoid the subject forever.”

“It is sensible. But what if what I want is not the same as what you want?” Thor groaned, frustrated.

“I think we are mature enough to come to terms with it, too. Just be honest.”

“I want you,” Thor blurted suddenly. “I want you like I did in Jötunheim but I can accept that it’s something that shouldn’t be.”

Loki looked at him with an almost affectionate smirk. “You truly are an oaf, Thor.”

But when the next moment Loki kissed him, Thor just couldn’t care less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for following this story. I hope I didn't disappoint anyone too much with the sudden end. This shouldn't have been this long but Thorki writes itself O_O Kudos to all of you:)


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